The Bits Box
by twistyguru
Summary: Just a little place to put things that are worth saving, or putting out for comments, or Omakes, or plot bunnies that haven't grown their fangs yet, or other strange and odd things.  Could be anything, in any fandom or genera...let the Reader beware!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** A Bits Box is where modelers and others who work with small fiddly bits put their extras and oddments, so that you can find just that particular screw or little piece that you absolutely must have when you need it. Likewise, this 'story' is for bits and pieces of stories that haven't quite come together, or that need to be thrown out for comments before going any further, or anything else that I decide to dump in it. There is literally NO telling what might wind up here, which is why I've gone with the Teen rating, just to be on the safe side. Don't count on regular updates, or anything like that; it's just a battered old shoebox with lots of junk in it. I probably should have called it an Omake box, but that would only have confused me.

Some of you may recognize this as the old 'Chapter 11' from HP/VoD-good pickup! It was put there as a stop-gap during a particularly busy time, and is moved here until I can get VoD written up to that point. Or, it may NEVER get incorporated into VoD; VoD has a life all of it's own and tends to go haring off in strange directions. Still, I really like this scene, and didn't want it to vanish completely. So, enjoy!

For those of you not familiar with Harry Potter and the Vale of Destiny, here's the quickie summary: Cedric's not dead, he's back from the future to help Harry out, to make sure that the future that pulled him out of the graveyard never happens. Oh, and Cedric and Harry are engaged, and back at Hogwarts for Harry's year 5...

**In the Dueling Room**

Harry Potter stood on the strip facing his opponent. Hermione Granger glared back at him, still angry over their last confrontation. For the life of him, Harry couldn't remember just what it was that had cheesed Miss Bushy Hair off so badly, but then again, he really didn't care. It's not like it took all that much to send the Gryffindor prefect into a rant these days, and repeated exposure to her tantrums and lectures was quickly giving Harry immunity to their effects.

Of course, the fact that he could always count on his _real_ friends—not to mention his thoroughly snoggable and lusciolicious boyfriend—to support him didn't hurt. He snickered; a little smirk playing on his lips as he compared Cedric to Hermione's Won-Won. Certainly, he had the better of the two boyfriends, that was for damn sure!

Hermione saw his smirk, and misinterpreted it (as she was wont to do) as Harry smirking at her dueling ability. Her temper spiked, and she snarled back at him.

"Come on, Harry…do your worst!" she challenged, just before Professor Flitwick dropped his wand to begin the match.

Harry blinked at the intensity of Hermione's glare, but didn't let that stop him from neatly sidestepping the _Expelliarmus_ that she sent his way. Sighing inside, and knowing that there really was nothing he could do about her temper, he continued to dodge her best efforts with all the grace of a matador. Then, just to change his tactics up a bit (his teachers had been working to get him to do just that) he cast the Longbottom 'bat' charm on his wand hand and started popping Hermione's spells back at her.

The first stunner that Harry sent back at Hermione almost ended the duel, but Hermione managed to shriek, shield and then fume in one jerky movement.

"So, that's how you want to play it, Potter?" she ground out, her teeth clenched. "Well, let's see how you like THIS!" and sent a bolt of bright blue screaming through the air towards him.

Harry didn't recognize the curse, but any spell that made that kind of howl as it passed through the air couldn't be good. Dropping prone, he used his off-hand to cast a reflective _Protego_ at a slight angle to the floor, just over his body. The blue screamer expanded as it came, then hit Harry's shield with a resounding 'gong', careening off to explode on the ceiling in a shower of dust, sparks and debris.

Knowing that someone else would contain the damage, Harry leaped to his feet and smiled at the end of the strip.

"Nice one, Granger. What obscure tome did you pull that one from?"

Hermione's smile would have curdled milk at twenty paces. "Pity you'll never know, Potter," she fired back, then followed her words with a series of rapid-cast spells designed to force an opponent to do nothing but shield while they rained down on him or her.

Harry's _Protego_ was more than up to the task of defending against Hermione's barrage, but he really didn't want to be caught shielding and casting at the same time. Occasionally, he either thought it wouldn't be noticed or he had no choice…like with his defense against the blue screamer. So…since he had to keep up a shield until Hermione decided to try something else, what to do, what to do?

Suddenly, an inspiration opened in Harry's head like a rose opening into full bloom. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a handful of marbles—conjuring them in his pocket with his off hand bracelet while maintaining his shield with his wand. A quick flick of his wrist sent them merrily skittering across the strip towards Hermione, which distracted her enough to make her miss a beat in her casting rhythm.

Grinning, Harry dropped his shield and flicked his wand in a peculiar up-widdershins-twist-thrust motion while subvocalizing '_coconut cream'_.

One of the marbles obediently leaped into the air, transformed into a coconut cream pie, and went streaking towards Hermione's face.

The shock of having a cream pie thrown at her was just enough to keep her from reacting until it was too late.

**SPLAT!**

**SPLAT! SPLAT!** Two more pies landed while Hermione just stood there, gobsmacked.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Her wand went flying into Harry's hand as the observers went deathly quiet.

Slowly, Hermione reached up and wiped the remains of the pies from her face, then casually strolled to the halfway point of the strip.

"You win, Potter. Now, may I have my wand back, please?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"Certainly, Granger," Harry said, smiling. Ever the gentleman, he gave her a small bow as he returned her wand.

"Thank you ever so much," Hermione grinned. Then, fast as a striking cobra, she reached out, grabbing the front of Harry's trousers with one hand and shoving her wand down into the front of his pants with the other.

_"Aquamenti frigia!"_ she crowed, sending a blast of ice-cold water directly onto Harry's crotch.

"AIIIIEEEEE!" Harry squealed, dancing away from the icy torment while Hermione (and many others in the room) burst out laughing.

Drying and warming his chilled privates with a wave of his wand, Harry looked up at the still-laughing girl. "Here, Hermione, let me help you get cleaned up," he said sweetly, before turning his wand into a fire hose and directing the water stream towards her face.

Surprisingly, Hermione just stood there, face turned into the stream of water until most of the pie remnants were washed away. Then, she stepped back and grinned fiercely.

"Why thank you, Harry…but of course, you realize, this means war!" And with that, she conjured her own pie—chocolate meringue, this time—over Harry's head, letting it fall with a resounding SPLAT!

The Boy-Who-Lived just stood there, stunned at the thought that the prim and proper Prefect had just dumped a chocolate meringue pie on the top of his head, while making a Bugs Bunny reference. Reaching up, he scooped a dollop off of his glasses with one finger before bringing the finger to his mouth.

"Mmm, chocolate…very tasty. I don't suppose I could get the recipe, could I?" he asked, a maniac grin appearing on his face.

"I'd be glad to give it to you," Hermione said sweetly. "Or even better, let me make you another one," she said, conjuring another pie in her hand.

"Hermione, you need to think very carefully about what you're about to do," Harry warned, seeing Hermione's arm going back in preparation for a throw.

"Oh, I am," she grinned, then let the pie fly.

Unfortunately for Hermione, Harry was now ready, and not really in the mood to wear any more chocolate at the moment. His frantic duck let the pie sail through the space his head had just occupied, to land….

…right in the face of Neville Longbottom, who had been coming to help Harry clean up.

The Lord Longbottom, _the_ Longbottom of Longbottom, Head of the Most Nobel and Most Ancient House of Longbottom stood there, momentarily surprised to suddenly receive a face-full of a rather tasty chocolate meringue pie. Licking his lips, he grinned, then opened his eyes in a chocolaty face to grin across the strip. Ignoring Hermione's hasty apologies, he raised his own wand and repeated the gesture Harry had used earlier, whispering 'lemon meringue' as he did so.

Neville's lemony missile streaked across the room, barely missing a dodging Hermione to strike a glancing blow to Fred Weasley's shoulder.

The Gryffindor looked at his housemate with an expression that made one think that Christmas had come early, before raising his own wand in a gesture very similar to the one Neville had just made. His pastry, trailing what looked and smelled suspiciously like blueberry juice, went flying across the room, missing Neville by a hair's breadth to strike Cedric Diggory, who was coming to the aid of his friend and boyfriend.

"Oi, git!" Cedric barked. "Now, it's on!" he called out. "Hufflepuffs, to me!" Giving a cry to rally his house, he let fly with a rather messy treacle tart in Fred's general direction. Unfortunately, he was somewhat sloppy with his aim, and wound up landing the tart in the middle of George Weasley's chest. Seeing this, Fred burst out laughing, only to be quickly joined by his twin; both of them began grinning like loons and flinging cupcakes around the room in all directions.

Filius Flitwick, no fool he, paused in his giggling only long enough to stage a hasty retreat to one side of the room. From there, he watched as the room degenerated into a food fight of epic proportions as pies, cakes, various other assorted pastries and other edibles were transfigured, conjured or otherwise coerced from parts unknown to be used in what appeared to be a total free-for-all.

The Charms Professor did note that the instigators on all sides—Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Cedric Diggory, Hermione Granger and both Weasley twins—were taking time between volleys to show some of the other students charms and spells to produce different kinds of ammunition. Before long, a mushy peas and shepherd's pie firing line of Gryffindors was formed up under the twin's generalship; while Cedric's Hufflepuffs returned fire with Brussels sprouts and broccoli casserole. One of the twins had conjured up a large ham, which he was using as an improvised beater's bat. It seemed that he was doing as much harm as good, as every strike he scored merely sprayed debris over the entire room—mostly his own troops. Not that anyone appeared to mind….

Flitwick soon found himself accompanied by two of the least likely comrades he could imagine. Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had somehow managed to avoid being soiled by the flying edibles, and had made their way to crouch on either side of the Professor.

"Well, boys, it seems like we're missing all of the fun," Filius teased, never taking his eyes off the fight for one second.

"Huh," was all that the young Weasley said, while the Malfoy heir had his own opinion. "Barking mad, the lot of them," Draco opined, watching the fight as closely as Flitwick, wand ready to shield himself at the slightest indication of incoming fire.

"Indeed, but still, I'm quite impressed with the magic they're using," Filius said quietly. "Look," he indicated with a nod of his head. "Someone's using a stream of frozen pumpkin juice slurry to make their opponents keep their heads down, while the rest of that small group gets ready to lob a bunch of pineapple upside-down cakes over their barricades."

"Potter called it a 'smoothie'," Draco said absently. Then, seeing the Professor's momentary confusion out of the corner of his eye, elaborated. "Frozen juice slush…it's a muggle thing," he shrugged.

"You don't say," Flitwick answered, not showing any surprise that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were sharing muggle drinks together.

"Just when did you and Harry get so cozy over drinks, Malfoy?" Ron snapped.

"Oh, didn't you get that memo, Weasel? It was at last weeks' Junior Death Eaters in Training meeting…we're seducing Harry to the Dark Side, because we have chocolate, ice cream and cookies on a regular basis. Plus, we're just dead sexy." Malfoy rolled his eyes, then snapped his attention back to the battle as a sausage smacked into the wall not too far from him.

Ron growled at his nemesis, but his reply was cut off by Flitwick. "Judging by what I'm seeing here, I don't think Mr. Potter needs any assistance in conjuring his own treats," he observed dryly. He did note that there seemed to be at least one house elf following Harry around, making sure that there was always a pie there when he put his hand out for one.

"Shouldn't you be putting a stop to this, Professor?" Draco asked quietly. "Maintaining discipline, or some such rot…er, reason?"

Filius snickered. "You're probably correct, Mr. Malfoy. However, I think that this is excellent training, in its own way. Observe, if you will," he waved his hand at the room. "Our group has more-or-less divided itself into two factions, which are now well defended behind improvised barricades. There is some 'artillery' fire being exchanged, but otherwise they seem to have reached a stalemate. I'm curious to see just what will happen next. Aren't you?" he said, glancing at both boys, who immediately developed near-identical looks of calculated interest.

"Harry's people are cleaning themselves up a bit," Ron reported in a whisper. "Not that there's a lot they can do without taking the pressure off the other side, but they're planning something."

"Very good, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Malfoy, your opinion?"

"I think the Weasel's on to something. Granger's still throwing everything they have across the way, but I don't see any signs of a change in their pattern on that side."

Filius nodded. "Nor do I, Mr. Malfoy. Each of you, take 5 points for your observational skills." Then, slyly, he added. "You two really should try working together more often; you'd make a formidable pair if you did." Grinning to himself, he ignored the identical snorts that came from each boy.

"Yeah, right."

"As if…."

Suddenly, the trio was distracted when a white flag went up from behind the overturned table that was Harry's main defense. Cries of 'Parlay' rang out, to be answered from the other side almost immediately. Slowly, the firing tapered off—a couple of the Gryffindors were far gone into battle-madness, apparently—but eventually quiet fell across the battlefield.

Cautiously, Harry's head appeared above his ramparts, followed by Cedric then Neville. On the other side, Hermione and the Twins slowly appeared.

"Parlay?" Harry called out.

"State your terms, Potter," Hermione returned.

"Unconditional Surrender!" Harry smirked.

"Only if you're the one surrendering to me!" Hermione yelled back, to laughter from her lines (and boos and catcalls from Harry's).

"In your dreams, Granger!"

"Then, up yours, Potter!"

"Not with you, Granger!"

"I'm happy to leave that to your boyfriend, Potter!"

"Thank Merlin for THAT!" Cedric added, his somewhat deeper voice carrying well to both sides, making laughter break out all 'round."

"So, Potter, do you actually have anything to say, or is this just an excuse to postpone your inevitable defeat?" Hermione's voice shook with her laughter.

"Well, aside from giving your side a chance to rest and scrape some of the goo off, I was just noticing that there are some people in the room who are much too clean. Why is that, do you think?" Harry teased.

"I blame you, Potter," Hermione immediately fired back.

"Now see here, Granger…it's as much your fault as mine!"

"Well, then…I see only one solution, don't you?"

Uh oh, Flitwick thought, seeing the boys on either side of him tense. This is going to get messy….

"GET 'EM!" Hermione and Harry roared together, boiling out from behind their walls towards Flitwick, Ron and Draco; their armies on their heels, howling like banshees.

The next few minutes were some of the most stimulating and enjoyable of Filius Flitwick's long life. He threw himself into the fight with abandon, finding an energy and thrill that he hadn't felt since leaving the dueling circuit. Any semblance of sides dissolved under a steady stream of fillings and icing (Filius thought that the butter cream was his favorite), and madness and chaos reigned free.

Unfortunately, nothing that good can last very long. Sadly, their fun was ended when Professor McGonagall opened the door into the dueling room. After a moment's shocked silence, she called out, her voice strident.

"Just what in the name of Merlin is going one here?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Shocked by her outcry, at least six people turned their wands on her without thinking. Even if the Deputy Headmistress had been ready for such an attack, she almost certainly wouldn't have emerged unscathed from the flurry of pies, cakes and entrees that flew her way. In the blink of an eye, she was coated from head to toe with sticky, sweet and savory debris, sputtering as a trickle of brown gravy dripped from her hat onto her face.

The entire room froze. Then, with the courage of Godric Gryffindor himself, Filius stepped forward.

"Hello, Minerva. How nice of you to join us? Can we offer you some refreshment?" Filius tried to make light of his colleague's' predicament.

"I…Filius, what the…sweet Merlin…this is GRAVY!" McGonagall finally managed to get out.

"Why, I think it is, and a fine job of transfiguration it is, too. You should be proud of your students, Minerva. I don't know when I've seen more creative uses of transfiguration and conjuration in a mass duel." Flitwick pressed on, moving close to the Headmistress and beginning to clean the mess from her robes. Taking their cues from him, the rest of the students began cleaning up the disaster area that was the Dueling room.

"Filius, just what the devil were you about here?" McGonagall's burr, normally very faint, was as harsh as a Scottish winter.

"Actually, that's a funny story, Minerva," Flitwick began, only to be cut off by the look in his friend's eyes.

"Save it." McGonagall looked around at the students now busily setting the room to rights. "Dare I ask who started this brouhaha?"

"Now, Minerva, before you say anything else, I'll thank you to remember that I am the sponsor of the Dueling Club, not you. I do apologize that you were caught in the crossfire, so to speak, but you did barge in to the middle of a training exercise in group tactics without proper precautions."

"Training exercise, is it? Then why, pray tell, am I tasting beef gravy and coconut cream?" The gaze that the Deputy Headmistress turned on her colleague and friend would have frozen a basilisk.

"Well, er, yes…would you believe improvised munitions?" Filius asked, blushing.

"Not as such, no," McGonagall said, her face severe. Still, Filius thought he saw a bit of a twitch at the corners of her mouth.

"Well, it actually started as a rather unique response of Mr. Potter to Miss Granger's spell-barrage dueling technique…." Filius began.

McGonagall cut him off abruptly. "Filius, I don't want to hear any more. This is your club, and I won't pretend to tell you how it should be handled. Still, I would hope that this is not the typical meeting of this organization." She looked down at him repressively.

"Oh, certainly not," Filius replied happily. "Sometimes they are known to get a bit messy, not at all like today." He smiled up winningly, ignoring the coughing and other sounds coming from the students.

"Hmm," McGonagall said noncommittally. "At any rate, you might want to consider a silencing charm before your next meeting. I was walking past and heard a commotion, and came in to investigate." She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. "You should all be glad that it wasn't the Headmaster, or another Professor who opened that door. Do I make myself understood?"

A chorus of subdued "yes ma'am's" and "yes, Professor's" answered her, and she relented a bit. "Very well. We will speak of this no longer. Good day, all," she said, and then left in a whirl of robes.

Once the door was shut, Filius turned to the students. "Well, that was…interesting. Now, to finish," he said, while most of the students collapsed to the floor in exhausted relief at having avoided the Wrath of McGonagall.

"Despite what some might think, I believe that you all did quite well today in an unorthodox situation. Mr. Diggory, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom; Miss Granger and the pair of Mr. Weasleys, I want each of you to write up an after-action report describing the battle as you saw it. Mr. Malfoy and young Mr. Weasley will review these reports with me, and we'll be discussing them at our next meeting." Filius noted that heads jerked, especially when he mentioned Draco and Ron working together. "As for the rest of you, I want the group to begin working up a book that will contain all of the charms, spells and hexes that were used today." He paused and grinned. "I suggest that you begin by making a list of all the charms that each of you used, then compiling the lists. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, if you two will be in charge of pulling together the lists from your respective allies, then making the master list. When we're finished, I'll help you edit it, and we'll present copies to the Deputy Headmistress and Headmaster. Who knows? There might be a way to publish it at the end of the year."

"The Hogwarts Handbook of Food Fighting?" a voice called out.

Filius gave up trying to hold back his belly laugh. "Oh, quite!" he said, before allowing himself the release of his laughter.

Later that evening, just before the evening meal was to be served, the Headmaster rose from his chair at the high table to make an announcement.

"By now, you have all heard of the events which occurred during today's meeting of the Dueling club," he began. "While in general, I am supportive of novel and innovative teaching techniques, it would appear that the situation got a bit out of hand. Consequently, there will be no pudding served with the meal tonight, as there have been ample sweets consumed by the students today." He looked around the room, eyes twinkling madly. "You may consider this a punishment for the entire school if you wish…or, as an inducement to join the Dueling club." Taking his seat, he waved his hand, causing the meal to appear.

Harry nudged Neville in the ribs. "Totally worth it," he smirked.

Neville nodded, looking at a grinning Hermione. "Totally."

Hermione smiled back with a look that wouldn't melt butter. "Next time, Harry."

"In your dreams, Hermione."

"Oh, it is so on!"

"Anytime, anyplace."

As the two continued to throw taunts back and forth, snickers and grins began to spread out like ripples in a pond.

Meanwhile, at the high table, Minerva McGonagall began plotting on just how she was going to get Severus Snape to crash the next meeting of the Dueling club….


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** so when people asked about the Tapestry in the Headmaster's office, this omake popped into my head. It presumes that the events of _Harry Potter and the Vale of Destiny_ have played out to a successful conclusion, and…well, you'll figure it out.

**Disclaimer:** as with all of my writings on this site, I don't make a penny from them. They are done out of respect for, and love of (and to 'correct' some of the little things, like having Cedric die in the fourth book) JKR's wonderful creation. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Tapestry**

The newly installed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked around his office and sighed, wondering once again how he allowed himself to be convinced to accept the position.

"Bit much, isn't it, boy?" One of the paintings—a Headmaster long dead that the newest member of Britain's most elite wizarding 'club' didn't recognize—sneered down at him.

"Oh, shut it, Oliver," another painting said firmly. "Relax, young man," the ancient wizard in the painting went on. "It only seems overwhelming for the first decade or two," he grinned, and then winked at the latest person to hold the seat.

"After that, you'll be too busy doing the paperwork to feel anything but harassed and harried," another painting, this one of a tiny slip of a witch, smiled down at him.

"Robbing the cradle these days, aren't they? In my day, the Board wouldn't have given a second thought to letting someone your age be a Professor, let alone Headmaster," another ancient wizard sniffed. His beard, almost floor length, shifted slightly in the region of his waist, and a tiny mouse peeked out from the strands of white hair.

As the other paintings made their various opinions known, the new Headmaster remembered the last piece of advice the previous occupant of the office had given him.

"Be firm with the paintings, right from the start. They are there to aid and advise you, not to run the school themselves. Oh, and don't worry about seeing anyone you'd rather not on the wall; Hogwarts selects the most appropriate former Headmasters for each new one, and the House elves will have completed the change out by the time you can walk here from the investiture ceremony in the Great Hall. So, walk in, take a deep breath, and claim the space as your own. If you need to, remind them that they can spent the remainder of your tenure in storage; after a millennium of Headmasters, you have an ample selection to choose from." Septima Vector had smiled at her young friend and Deputy the previous day, enjoying his discomfort. "And, most of all, relax! You know the school, the faculty and the students; everything else is here," she said, tapping a small bound journal with one immaculate fingernail. "Rowena Ravenclaw had the foresight to put together an 'Owner's Manual' for the castle, it's been updated on an as-needed basis by practically every Headmaster since. Only the current Headmaster can read it, and most of us have done so the first day or so after taking the Chair. Also, it's the tradition for the outgoing Head to write a personal letter to their successor. You'll find mine here on the desk beside the Manual. Read it first, as it's spelled to destroy itself after twenty-four hours, or after being read. I'll also leave you a list of the things you need to do immediately," she went on, then laughed reassuringly. "Oh, don't look like that! It's only a few small things, there's nothing major to be done after you accept the wards at the investiture. Still and all, there a few things you'll need to do here in the office—little things, but very useful—and right after the investiture is the best time for that. Among other reasons, that's why the reception won't be held until several hours after the investiture ceremony; officially, it's to let you 'freshen up' between ceremonies. Unofficially, it's to let you fully take the castle's reins before you have to appear in public as the Headmaster. Plus, you'll have time for a quick nap…believe me, take one, you'll need it."

Just then, the new Headmaster was far too nervous to let himself even think about napping at any time in the future. Drawing himself up, he looked around the office, then spoke softly but firmly. "Now, listen up, you lot. I am Sir Neville Longbottom, Lord Longbottom of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, Order of Merlin First Class, Order of the British Empire, and newest Headmaster of this School. While I appreciate the compliments about my age," Neville smirked, "I'll have you know that I'm almost seventy years old. Those of you who have been in this office during the tenure of the previous two Headmistresses know that I've been Professor of Herbology, and then Deputy Headmaster, for almost thirty years now." He stopped, and then grinned. "All right, I realize that makes me a 'young man' to some of you, but still…."

Neville paused, gauging his audience. A few huffed and looked a bit miffed—those he marked carefully for possible transfer back to storage—but most were smiling and nodding, satisfied.

"Fine, then. Now, let me do what I have to do; I've got a reception to host in a bit under five hours from now." And with that, he carefully sat down in his—HIS—chair, picked up Vector's promised letter, and began to read.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A short time later, Neville sat back, more tired than he had expected to be. Septima's letter had been brief and to the point; mostly "relax, you'll do fine, don't call me, ask the paintings if you must, trust the Faculty and your resources as Headmaster and DON'T CALL ME!", along with short lists of 'Do Now' and 'Do the First Week' things. Most of the 'Do the First Week' list was social and/or political, the two now being forever intertwined by his new position: notes to all of the attendees at his investiture as Headmaster and the upcoming reception, a joint meeting with his entire faculty as well as private meetings with his Heads of Houses and as many other faculty as he could manage, formal notices of his assumption of the Headship to the Ministry and Wizengamot (stupid, really; both the Minister and Supreme Mugwump had attended the investiture and would be sitting with him at the reception tonight) as well as the Board of Governors (also stupid, they had also been out in force today, were expected this evening, and had given him the bloody job in the first place!). He also needed to make a small number of public appearances—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, the Ministry—to 'show the flag', as it were. Having been groomed by Vector for the last two years to follow her, there was nothing here that was unexpected; it merely was a bit overwhelming to see it listed out in Septima's neat hand.

There was almost nothing to be done with regards to the mechanics of running the school itself; that was the primary job of the Deputy Headmaster, and Neville had seen to it that all of the regular functions of the school had been set up to be taken care of at least for the next two months. He was still trying to persuade his first choice for Deputy to take the job, but his Potions Master was being recalcitrant about taking on the additional responsibility. Neville smiled, understanding all too well that taking on the Deputy Head's responsibilities cut into one's research time; he fully intended to take at least two half-days a week and reserve them solely for greenhouse time, by Merlin! Still, he had a plan to convince his Potions Master: tonight he would mention to Lady Malfoy that he was considering offering the position to Gawain Greengrass, the Divination Professor. The former Miss Sally Darrow-Wright hated the Greengrass family with a deep and abiding passion, and had for almost four decades now. It was something about them trying to enforce an old marriage contract between her husband and Astoria Greengrass just after the end of the Voldemort War, if Neville remembered correctly. The Greengrass' had argued before the Wizengamot that Lord Malfoy's marriage to a muggle was neither legitimate nor legal; hence there was no reason for Draco to not marry their youngest daughter. The barrister had then gone on to suggest that Draco might even keep his 'little muggle' as a 'divertissement'; the Greengrass family had no objection to such things so long as the heirs were pure-blooded and the proprieties observed in public.

The Wizengamot had eventually sided with the Malfoys, but it had been a close-run thing. The slap-fest between older daughter Daphne and Sally in the halls outside of the Wizengamot chamber had made the front page of the all of the major wizarding papers (Sally had easily pinned Daphne), but the two women actually concerned in the business had later become fast friends—the only two members of the two families that were on speaking terms, it seemed. Neville just happened to know, from years of helping Sally tend the Malfoy's cottage garden in Hogsmeade, that Astoria had written her a letter of apology, telling Sally that she, Astoria, had been forced into the situation by her family and that she personally found it horrible and disgusting all 'round. The two had met in secret for tea in a muggle bistro, and formed a 'girl thing' bond that had endured Astoria's expulsion from the Greengrass family (for marrying a muggle herself), Sally's miscarriage (with her second pregnancy), and the Most Horrible Separation in History (Draco and Sally, three weeks, when Draco insisted that Sally essentially be cloistered when he discovered that she was pregnant the third time). Neville shuddered at the memory. Draco had been absolutely impossible to live with, it had been right before the winter midterms and holidays, and the Potions Master had raged around the castle, assigning yards of essays for all of the classes and giving out detentions to every person—students AND faculty—that crossed his path. Headmistress McGonagall had given Draco three days to calm down, then dragged him into her office where Narcissa was there waiting to meet him. Minerva McGonagall had then dressed the young Master up, down and sideways, and barred him from the castle 'until you come to your senses, young man!'. Narcissa had dragged Draco literally by the ear to Astoria and Robert Cuthbertson's home, where Sally was hiding from him. Narcissa and Astoria had then refereed the resulting row, which ended with Draco sobbing in Sally's lap, begging her to never, ever leave him again.

"Actually, Neville, it was very sweet it it's own way," Sally had said to Neville as they picked peas together one fine afternoon. "After my miscarriage, Draco looked up every single complication of pregnancy that could possibly occur, and he was terrified that I'd get every one of them with Abby, and die myself during the pregnancy. The idiot only wanted to protect me, in his own stupid way. Once that came out, and he had it explained to him that I wasn't some delicate hothouse flower or china doll, how could I not take him back? Underneath all that Malfoy, he's a good man, my husband," she smirked.

Of course, when Abigail Narcissa Malfoy was born six months later—two days late, but almost seven pounds of wiggling, healthy, screaming, perfect baby girl—Neville had been profoundly glad that Hogwarts was in summer recess. At the rate Draco had given out fine cigars, he'd have had half the student body smoking within the first two days. Needless to say, Sally had not died with Abby's birth, nor the three that followed her. While the Malfoys didn't quite manage the Quidditch team that the Potter-Diggorys had, Draco and Sally's brood filled even old Malfoy Manor with screams and laughter as 'Papa Lucius' and 'Nana 'Cissa' spoilt the brats rotten…as the doting grandparents insisted was well within their rights.

Neville shook his head, catching himself drifting in his memories. No time for that, not today! Turning back to Septima's letter, he glanced at the 'Do Now' portion, and got to work.

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Less than an hour later saw Neville almost done with the list of immediate concerns. He'd meditated briefly to more firmly set the school's wards linkage with his magical core (more would come in the days and weeks to follow; it generally took nearly a full year for the links to 'set', according to Vector's note), attuned most of the office's gizmos, gadgets and artifacts to his magical signature, had the portraits introduce themselves (among them was Lord Richard Potter, one of Harry's forbearers who had been the one to tell him to 'relax' a bit earlier), and set a new password on the gargoyle (changing 'tangent' to 'horticulture'). Now then, what was next? Oh, yes….

Turning, Neville fixed his eyes on a particular book on the shelf behind him.

"Reveal the Headmaster's Tapestry," he said, quoting the words exactly as instructed.

A brief tingle followed his command as the castle's magic once again confirmed that he was, indeed, the Headmaster. Then, silently, two bookshelves slid apart to reveal the Headmaster's Tapestry.

"Sweet Merlin!" Neville breathed, impressed. What hung before him was an ancient, giant-sized version of the Marauder's Map. The first image that appeared was the castle itself, which quickly shifted perspective until the entire surrounding area was seen, before zooming back in to the central portion of the castle.

"Not a bad piece of work, if I do say so myself," came a voice from behind him. Turning, he recognized Lord Potter's voice.

"So, Lord Potter, your work, eh?" Neville asked, smiling. "Your descendant Harry has one remarkably like it."

"Please, Headmaster, Richard will do just fine." The tall, thin man with horribly messy hair and startling blue eyes grinned down from the wall. "I suppose that he, or someone else in the line, found my notes." The former Headmaster shrugged. "Well, that's why I left them, after all. Tell me, was this Harry the maker of this 'other' map?"

"No, that was his father, and his father's friends at the time," Neville said, grinning. "They were notable pranksters, and made the map as an aid to mischief-making," he went on, watching out of the corners of his eyes for the reactions of the various paintings. A couple looked terribly offended, and he immediately decided that at least one of them was going to spend a long time looking at the back of the storage room.

Lord Richard was not among the offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Oh, did they? Well, good show, then, jolly good show! Gave their own headmaster right fits, I'd imagine. Who was the lucky man, or woman, by the way? Are they hanging here now?"

Neville's brow furrowed as he frowned. "No, that would be Albus Dumbledore, and you won't be seeing him here, ever." That caused a murmur to sweep around the room. "Now is not the time to be explaining that to those of you who haven't heard the tale; suffice it to say that any portrait of Albus Dumbledore that survives will never hang in this office." A cell in Azkaban, perhaps, but never this office, Neville thought savagely. "Now, Lord Richard…pardon, _Richard_…could you tell me how this lovely piece of enchantment works?"

"I'd be glad to, my boy," Richard Potter smiled, putting his curiosity about this Headmaster Dumbledore...good family, whatever had happened there?...and his own descendant on hold while he answered the questions of the current Headmaster. "The Tapestry is attuned to your magic, as is so much else in the castle, as you've discovered. You only have to look at the key book on the shelf—the bright red one that you initially spoke the incantation to—and think of the Tapestry, and the bookshelves will open. Then, either speak or clearly think of the name of a person or persons in the castle or on the grounds, and you will be shown their position on the map. You can also have the map show you the quickest route from this office to a person's location, on command. Also, you might want to study the map at your leisure, it contains as many secret passages, shortcuts and hidey holes as the castle will allow it to show."

"So, there are some places that Hogwarts doesn't want seen? What if a student gets into one of those places and gets into trouble?" Neville asked, concerned. Vector's letter had briefly described the Tapestry, noting that on more than one occasion she had used it to find a lost or injured student quickly.

"Not possible," Richard answered confidently. "Hogwarts places the lives and safety of her students above all other concerns; she won't allow them to go into dangerous situations without considerable…persuasion. As only the Headmaster can control the castle to that extent, you yourself would know of the dangerous areas, making them visible to you on the map. The mapping function also covers large portions of the Forbidden Forrest and Hogsmeade village. Of course, the tapestry does have limits, but what doesn't?" he shrugged.

"I see," Neville said thoughtfully. And indeed he did, as a large number of unanswered questions were suddenly answered in his mind. As Lord Potter said, only the Headmaster could control the castle to that extent…. "Well, let's try it, shall we? Show me…the Groundskeeper cottage," he said firmly, settling back in his chair.

The lines on the map whirled for a brief moment, then coalesced into a diagram of the cozy three-bedroom cottage that stood where Hagrid's old hut once did. Two names floated about location dots in the cottage, one in the bedroom and another in the living room. It appeared that his groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Charlie Weasley, was in the bedroom while his wife (and Professor of Ancient Runes and Magical Informantics) Hermione Granger-Weasley was in their living room. In her favorite wingback chair reading, of that Neville had no doubt.

The new Headmaster grinned. Oh, this explained much! And, just think how much fun he was going to have, telling the Supreme Mugwump about it!

Then, Neville sighed. There were still a number of things to do before the reception, and he was already looking forward to the nap Septima had urged him to take. A wave of his hand closed the bookshelves, and he picked up his list once more.

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Some one or some ones…and Neville had his suspicions about just who it might be…had decided that the reception following his investiture as Hogwarts Headmaster was going to be a Grand Affair (with Large Letters). In fact, it had grown, and grown, and grown until Neville had heard it being referred to as the Social Event Of The Season (again, Large Letters).

When he finally figured out just who was responsible for him being the chief target, er, Guest of Honor at the SEOTS…currently he was almost certain about three of them, with another few high on his list…there would be consequences! Oh yes, most severe consequences! Such behavior would have to be punished, if for no other reason than to keep it from ever, EVER happening again. At least to one Neville Longbottom, that is….

Unfortunately, since one of the 'almost certain' was his wife, Hannah, he couldn't do a lot to her. Or to his Professor of Ancient Runes and Magical Informatics. Or to the wife of his Potions Master. (Draco himself, while always enjoying events like this, would never have done such a thing to his friend…Neville hoped.)

However, the Supreme Mugwump and Minister for Magic…that pair were fair game! His face set in a hard mask, he stalked over to where the Mugwump and Minister were hogging (and probably spiking) the punchbowl.

"Minister, Supreme Mugwump," he said through clenched teeth. "How good of you to come this evening."

"Wouldn't miss it for all the tea in China, old boy!" the Minister of Magic smirked. Was that a bottle of Old Ogden's he had just slid back into his robe?

The Supreme Mugwump was beaming at him, eyes twinkling in that maddening way that he had developed decades ago, just to annoy people with. "Oh, yes, indeed…it's not everyday that Hogwarts gets herself a new Headmaster, how could we not be here?"

Neville dropped his voice, hissing so that only the Mugwump and the Minister could hear him. "If I find out that you two had anything to do with turning my nice, quiet little reception into this…this…" he darted his gaze around the room.

Infuriatingly, the Supreme Mugwump only laughed and twinkled a bit more. "Social Event Of The Season, Headmaster?"

"Yes," hissed Neville through clenched teeth, leaving hideous threats unspoken.

The Minister for Magic leaned in close before he spoke, keeping his words between just the three of them.

"Buck up, Longbottom. Welcome to our world. We have to put up with this shite almost every day, and now so do you." Leaning back, a huge (and patently false) smile grew on his face.

"Bugger you both, gits," Neville grumped. "Give me a shot of that punch," he ordered.

The Supreme Mugwump and the Minister for Magic exchanged looks that told each other that they'd been thoroughly busted, then they snickered together. "Of course, Headmaster," the Minister said, and carefully used his body to conceal the bottle that he used to fill Neville's empty goblet.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Neville said, tossing back a healthy swallow. A moment later, when the initial spasm passed, he felt much better. "Actually, I'm glad that you two did come, even if you're both prats. Still, why are we having this conversation here, in public? Shouldn't we all be mobbed by our faithful fans, or something?"

The Supreme Mugwump smiled. "That's what minions are for, Neville, as you'll quickly learn. We've only got another few minutes, at most; until then, our faithful friends and allies are running interference so that we three can 'discuss important matters' in relative privacy."

Neville had already noticed that very thing being done very discretely, but it was good to have it confirmed. "Well, then, I think I need another shot of those 'important matters' before the mob gets to us."

The Minister for Magic grinned, and refilled the Headmaster's goblet with the same care as before.

"Well, I like that! Getting my husband drunk at his very own reception!" Hannah Longbottom's voice came from just behind Neville's shoulder.

All three men turned, blushing furiously, just as Hannah elbowed her way into the little group. "Now, quick, pour me a double," she commanded. "I've been out there being the good little wifey, and I'm about to go spare." When the Minister finished his task, Hannah tossed hers back with all the aplomb and skill of an old Hogwarts hand. "Ahhhh…mother's milk!" she sighed, holding out the goblet for another, which the Minister quickly provided. For better or worse, it was the last of the bottle.

"Well, that's all I have with me," the Minister sighed, turning to the Mugwump. "You?" he asked.

The Mugwump just shrugged. "Just my pocket flask," he said. "That's for emergencies only, you know. We might be kidnapped by portkey to a deserted island, or something, and desperately need it then."

"Too right," the Minister agreed. "Sorry, Hannah, we'll just have to do with what they're serving tonight."

Hannah sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Once again, I find myself disappointed by the incompetence of my government. Whatever shall I do?"

"Vote us out of office?" the Minister said hopefully.

"Call for a vote of no confidence and run me out of my job?" the Mugwump asked, smiling.

"No, there's nothing for it but to make you two suffer. I think I'll do everything I can do to keep you in your posts for the next fifty years, I think," Hannah grinned evilly.

"Just as long as you keep this one," the Minister said, elbowing her husband, "in the Headmastership until at least our first round of grandchildren get through here."

"I think I can do that," Hannah grinned. "Oops, guess what? It's time for us to all go and play nice-nice with the hoi poi. Remember, no hexing allowed, for any of you," she said, a faux-fierce glare sweeping over all three men.

"Yes, ma'am," they answered in chorus, then had to fight to keep from giggling like schoolboys.

"Humph! Men!" was all that the Lady Longbottom had to say, as she led her husband towards where the receiving line would be starting.

After her, Harry Potter-Diggory and Cedric Potter-Diggory—the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Minister for Magic, respectively—followed, arm in arm.

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Much later, Neville, Harry and Cedric gathered in Neville's office. 'The Girls'—Hannah, Sally, Hermione, Luna, Susan, Astoria, a few others—were off somewhere discussing 'things men were not meant to know', which meant that the real problems of the country were being worked out, and the men who fronted for them would be informed shortly of their lines. Meanwhile, Draco, Charlie, Dennis, Justin and a few other males had moved the drinking to the Black Dog in Hogsmeade, where they could drink under the gimlet eye of one Lord Sirius Black, Proprietor.

Translation: Draco and the rest of the menfolk had retreated to a real bar as soon as the reception was over, for some real drinking with a real drinker.

Neville, Harry and Cedric would be joining them shortly, Merlin willing. But, Neville had something that just wouldn't wait.

"Harry, you'll like this," he promised, dropping into his chair. HIS chair, behind HIS desk. Neville gave a little shudder at the thought.

The Supreme Mugwump obviously read Neville's mind. "You look good behind that desk, Neville," Harry said, his eyes warm. "Not that Septima didn't do a good job, these last twenty-odd years, but…."

"There's never been a more worthy butt in that chair, Nev," Cedric grinned.

"Thanks, Minister. Oh, by the way…should we be worried about collusion between the branches of our government, what with you two sleeping together and all?"

Harry and Cedric both laughed. "Well, since you mention it, yes, probably," Harry managed, between chuckles. "Still, it's going on almost ten years now, and I don't think the country's suffered too badly, has it?"

Neville's quick shake of the head was all the answer anyone in the room needed. "I will say this, Cedric: the position of Charms Professor is yours anytime you want it. Old Flitwick's said as much, several times these last few months."

Cedric just snorted. "Oh, come on, Neville! Flitwick's only, what? Not quite a hundred and twenty? He's only getting started," he finished. "Besides, there are already people on me to run again for a third term, and there are a few more things I'd like to see finished before I step aside. Maybe in five years, if the job's still open?"

Neville 'harrumphed'. "Tell Flitwick, then; he can't retire until you're free to take up the post. I won't have anyone else for it."

"Flitwick won't be retiring, he'll just be moving from one job to another," Harry grinned. "Five years from now, I expect to have grandchildren for him to start tutoring, and not just in the summers, either."

"Some of our peers already have great-grands on the horizon, you know," Neville said musingly.

Cedric and Harry both shrugged. "We're not concerned about that," Cedric said easily. "Harry and I had reasons to want to wait before we started with our own, and our oldest have also wanted to wait a bit. It's not an issue for us, not like it would be if we were muggles."

"Since we can both reasonably expect to have another sixty or so good years in us, we're fine as it is," Harry said quietly. He and Neville met each other's eyes, and Neville was swept back across the years to just after the War, when he and Harry discussed the Death Magic that Harry was having slowly cleansed from his body. The destruction of Voldemort had required things from all of them that were distasteful, to say the least; Harry had born the brunt of it. Ultimately, it had been Neville, Cedric and a few others who had supported Harry through the aftermath of victory. "But," Harry was going on, "J. A. and his wife have been making the right noises for a few months now, and unless I miss my guess, Anna Lily was positively glowing the last time I saw her."

"James Amos will make a fine father, and he made a real match when he landed Diana Bones. Tell me, does Draco know that Benjamin's wife might be in a family way?" Neville asked carefully.

"No, and neither does Sally; don't you say a word, either, Longbottom," Harry mock-threatened. "Ben and Ann will 'officially' let us know when they're ready. Until then, we all know nothing and say less. Understood?"

Neville nodded his understanding. "Fine. Just remember how Draco was with the birth of his children. When he has the first grandchild come around, I'll probably have to have him sedated in the hospital wing."

Harry and Cedric both snickered, only to be cut off by the Headmaster. "And don't think I won't have the same done to either or both of you, Mr. Supreme Mugwump and Minister! I seem to remember a certain someone using a vintage Firebolt to skywrite the name of his new son over Diagon Alley some years back."

Cedric at least had the grace to blush at this, while Harry snickered and took his husband's hand. His first pregnancy with J. A. had been long and difficult, and Cedric had been at his bedside constantly for the last few weeks as the healers fought to keep little Jamie from coming prematurely. His later pregnancies had been much easier, as had Cedric's; in no small part because of what had been learned during his first attempt. It hadn't hurt that Draco Malfoy had been there almost as much, refining the potions constantly to improve their efficacy at maintaining Harry's pregnancy with a minimum of side effects. Even now, over two decades later, Draco's monograph on male pregnancy potions was considered _the_ standard in the field.

The three sat in companionable silence for some time, old friends at ease with each other. They had spoken about this moment many times in the past, and now it had finally come. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was arguably the third most influential wizard in Great Britain, after the Minister and the Supreme Mugwump. Now that Neville had taken on his new hat, it was almost like the three were coming home once more.

"So," Harry said, breaking the silence. "I want to get home at a reasonable hour, because I, for one, can't sleep in tomorrow," he joked. Of the three, his day would start later than either of the others.

"Fine," Neville huffed. "I suppose that you old men need your rest, and all that," he said, then turned and ordered the bookshelves to open. He deliberately didn't look at his guests, but listened closely to their reactions when they realized just what they were looking at.

"It's…a giant Marauder's Map!" Harry gasped.

"It's done as a tapestry, rather than on parchment," Cedric observed carefully, always mindful of the little details. "Does it work like the map we have?" he asked, just as carefully.

"Basically, yes, as far as I know," Neville said. "It's keyed to the Headmaster, and can show me anyone in the castle or surrounding area, out to most of Hogsmeade and the Forrest. It's mostly been used in emergencies to find lost children, or those who got off and injured themselves too badly to come back on their own; it also shows almost every secret passage and short cut around the old pile," he said warmly.

"Well, now we know, don't we?" Harry said, his voice calm. "I rather suspected as much, from time to time. Let me guess, the Lords Hall is a dead zone for it?"

"It's one of the very few, yes," Neville said. "I think the Chamber of Secrets is another, but not the Room of Requirement, most of the time. I'll have to play with it a bit, you understand," he trailed off, then shrugged.

"Do we know who made it?" Cedric asked. "The charms involved must be…incredible," he breathed. He'd worked with the original Marauder's Map for years, trying to understand its secrets, but always limited his investigations for fear of harming it. Even Sirius and Remus had only been able to tell him so much; James Potter had done most of the delicate work himself, and the others hadn't know just exactly how or what he did to make it work.

"That would be me, Minister," a voice said from behind Cedric's head. Turning, he saw an aged wizard with facial features and hair that was messily familiar. "Lord Richard Potter, at your service," the elderly wizard said, bowing.

"Lord Richard…Potter?" Harry breathed the question.

"Indeed I am, good sir. And you are, might I guess, my descendant? The Headmaster mentioned that he knew one of mine well, and I'm afraid that the hair is something of a dead giveaway for the men of the Potter line," he chuckled.

"I'm a Potter, Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Evans," Harry said, his eyes lighting up.

"James? Never heard of him, I'm afraid," Lord Richard smiled. "Not surprising, considering that I've been dead for most of five centuries now, give or take a few years. Still, the Family tapestry in the vault should have both of us on it; you can use it to figure out just what level of 'great-' grandfather or whatever we really are. Still, we're related, the hair tells me that much. Pleased to meet you, Harry."

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Richard," Harry said, his smile growing with each passing second. "So, you made the tapestry?" he asked.

"Indeed I did, and I suspect that your father found my journal with my notes on how I did so. Feel free to share them with the esteemed Minister over there," he nodded towards Cedric, who was studying the Tapestry intently.

"I will if I can find them, sir; there have been a few rearrangements of the library in the last few years," Harry said.

"What Harry means is a couple of wars, the destruction of Potter Manor, and moving the library into a Gringotts vault and out again at least twice," Neville spoke up. "There are still boxes of books in storage at the new Potter-Diggory Manor, waiting to be catalogued. Somehow, between keeping down a never-ending supply of Dark Wizards, running the country, parenting an entire Quidditch team of little ankle biters and whatever else always seems to come up, some people never get around to properly unpacking their things," he said, glaring at his two friends.

Lord Potter (and several other of the former Headmasters) laughed out loud at Neville's assertion, as well as Harry and Cedric's matching glares at him. "What, have house elves gone out of fashion, then?" he asked.

"Have you ever tried to use a library organized by house elves?" Harry asked, then shook his head. "Don't. Just…don't. I keep meaning to do it myself, but like Neville said, something always seems to come up. And before you start; no, I can't ask Hermione, she'd freak at some of the things I know are in those old trunks. She's never really gotten over Dumbledore's programming about 'Light' and 'Dark' magic. She'd want to report me to the Ministry for some of them, and burn the rest. No," he said, shaking his head, "I'll get to it, probably when Cedric retires as Minister. I'm going to resign as Supreme Mugwump that very same day, on the grounds that I'm going to spend more time with my husband, thank you very much. Until then," he shrugged, "it's not like I have lots of free time to read, anyway."

"Until then, I rather doubt that the Minister for Magic would condone prosecuting the Supreme Mugwump for possession of Dark materials," Cedric smirked. "I've gotten too used to having you steal the duvet to ever sleep alone again."

"Oi! Prat!" Harry said, with a fond look at his husband.

For his part, Neville just snickered. "By the way you two carry on, you'd think you were an old married couple."

"We _are_ an old married couple, thank you very much, just like you and the lovely former Miss Abbott," Cedric laughed.

"Damned right," Neville grinned. "And, speaking of my lovely wife, I think that I'm going to throw you two out soon so that I can go have a few drinks for form's sake, then go to her bed. I, for one, have had an exhausting day." The Headmaster raised his hand, as both men across from him began to speak. "Yes, you can both come back soon. Cedric, I know that you'll be wanting to look at the Tapestry, and discuss it with Lord Richard. Harry, you'll be wanting to update Richard on just what's been going on with the family recently. You're both certainly welcome here at any time, just realize that I've got a school to run and may occasionally have to throw you out for a bit."

Harry and Cedric both nodded, the years in their current positions having taught them all too well that sometimes work has to take precedence over everything else. Cedric was the first to rise, but only just.

"We'll take our leave, then, Headmaster," the Minister said. Then, he nodded to the walls. "Headmasters," he repeated, then reached for Harry's hand.

"We'll be back in a day or so, when we can spend more time chatting you all up," Harry smiled. "Also, there are a few things which Ced and I have to talk about with the Headmaster, in our official roles."

As Neville and Cedric both rolled their eyes, Harry laughed and pressed on. "Yes, yes, I know, blame me for wanting to keep the country running smoothly. Actually," he said, his voice dropping somewhat, "as good as Septima was to work with, I'm looking forward to it being the three of us, together again."

"You realize, Harry, that there are going to be times when we're at odds," Neville cautioned. "Hogwarts has got to be my first responsibility, and I can't go along with you and Cedric just because we're friends gone on these last forty-odd years."

Harry snorted, and Cedric frankly laughed. "Neville, the day I expect a Longbottom to 'just go along' with me for any reason is the day I'll retire to my garden," the former Hufflepuff barked. "Oh, we'll have our share of rows…but then I expect the winner to buy the firewhiskey afterward, just as always."

"Fair enough. Now, if we can just get that pig-headed git of a Supreme Mugwump to listen to reason and do exactly what we say…." Neville answered.

"Oi! Right here, you great thumping louts!" said Supreme Mugwump objected.

"Out! Get out of my office this minute!" the Headmaster thundered, before waving his friends out. "I'll be down to the Dog in a bit, but don't expect me to stay very long. It really has been a long day for me."

After Cedric and Harry had gone—promising to have his drink waiting for him when he arrived—Neville closed the bookcases and went about shutting down the various other little things in his office that needed it for the night. Then, as he was about to step on the staircase, he turned once again and looked at his—_HIS_—office.

Headmaster Longbottom, he thought. Yes, I think I can get used to that.

And with that last thought, he left to join his friends.

**A/N: ryencoke** and **sunsethill** wrote the reviews that started me thinking about this little scene; so I just had to write it. It's probably as close to an Epilogue as VoD will ever have, and I totally reserve the right to not make everything in VoD turn out just exactly as I've hinted at here…except for how many kids the Potter-Diggorys and the Malfoys have. Swarms of little rug rats I see, yes indeedy!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **One shot. Explains why the Matron never did anything about the signs of Harry's abuse at the hands of the Dursleys. Dumbledore bashing implied. Poppy Pomphrey.

**Disclaimer: ** same old, same old. Still haven't found a way to own it yet.

**The Problem of Poppy Pomphrey**

Poppy Pomphrey, Matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, shook her head in disbelief. Surely not, she thought, and then did what every good Healer did when confronted with seemingly impossible results: she repeated the test, taking special care with her technique. It wouldn't do to ruin a second attempt with sloppy wand work.

The results were unchanged.

Poppy's lips pressed together into a thin line. If she was reading the diagnostic runes floating over the small child's body correctly—and she was—then the boy was suffering the effects of long-term malnutrition, as well as signs of multiple broken bones, cracked ribs, contusions, and at least three old concussions.

In other words, the little boy was not only small for his age, but carried in his very bones a hellish history of physical abuse and neglect. The good news, if anything could be considered to be 'good' about such a horrible scan, was that there seemed to be no signs of sexual abuse. Well, Poppy would take what she could get.

Then, noticing the anxious look in the huge emerald eyes gazing up at her, she smiled one of her best professional smiles.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter; there's nothing wrong with you that I can't put to rights," she said, hating herself for the lie she made herself tell her tiny patient. "You just wait right here, I'll be back in a jiffy with a potion or three, and you'll be right as rain in jig time!"

She consoled herself with the thought that she would actually be starting the process of making the boy better, even though she knew that it would be a long time before he was actually 'all right'.

* * *

Poppandrea Pomphrey had been a Ravenclaw who was third in her class at Hogwarts. Her blood was pure enough, despite a few muggle-borns who'd been brought into the family over the centuries, and the family itself had always been good, solid wizarding yeoman stock. Not for the Pomphreys the manor or great estate; theirs was the world of cottage and field. Still and all, the line reached back as far as some of the 'Ancient' houses, and had always had a good reputation.

That reputation, glowing letters of recommendation from Horace Slughorn and Albus Dumbledore, and her outstanding NEWT scores were sufficient to place her in a Healer training slot at St. Mungo's. She'd thrown herself into her training with the same intensity that she'd shown at Hogwarts, and done well in almost every area. She'd found her true calling, however, in treating sick children; she'd played the inevitable games necessary to work her way into a Paediatrics fellowship, and excelled once she was there. Her superiors were so pleased with her that they offered her a position at St. Mungo's immediately upon her graduation.

She had been quite surprised to receive the owl from Headmaster Dumbledore, asking to meet her for tea. Not knowing just why the venerable Headmaster might want to meet with her, she'd agreed.

She'd been completely taken by surprise when Dumbledore offered her the position of Matron—School Nurse—at Hogwarts, and done her best to object.

"But Headmaster, Madam Ingleshot is a more than competent paediatric nurse..."

"Who has informed me that she will be retiring at the end of this school year," Albus twinkled at her over his teacup.

"I see," Poppy really did see. Being what it was—a school for training young wizards and witches in the proper use of their rapidly growing magic, not to mention their bodies—for Hogwarts to be without a full-time nurse would be a catastrophe. "Still, I'm not sure that having a fully-certified Healer would be any better for the children than having a good Nurse, and a convenient floo connection to the emergency ward of St. Mungo's."

"I'm afraid that I can't agree with that," the Headmaster had sighed. "You've been on the receiving end of that floo far too many times these past few months, haven't you, Healer Pomphrey? We both know that there have been several injuries over the past year or so that were exacerbated by floo travel, and portkeying a seriously-injured child has always been a dicey proposition, at best. No," the Headmaster went on, "I've done my homework on this, and managed to convince the Board that we need someone more capable than a mere Nurse available at Hogwarts on a full-time basis."

She and Albus had shared a smile at the thought of the grey bearded Headmaster actually doing 'homework', but she couldn't argue with the parchments he produced. Edna Ingleshot was nothing if not meticulous in her documentation, and her records for the past five years made for interesting reading. Madam Ingleshot had a transfer rate to St. Mungo's of between five and seven cases in any given month, with a high in October two years prior of nineteen transfers (although, that was an anomaly due to a chain-explosion of cauldrons in one particularly disastrous Potions class).

As she kept reading, she remembered several of the cases that had recently been transferred. At least three of them should never have been exposed to the floo network; she had particularly vivid memories of frantically trying to stabilize a transfiguration accident that Madam Ingleshot had, appropriately, sent on as soon as the child was brought to the hospital wing.

"And so you see, the Board agrees with me that the position should be filled by a fully trained Healer...although, the title will remain 'Matron', as it is the tradition," the Headmaster spoke as she read on. "The salary will be commensurate with that of a Ward Healer here at St. Mungo's; I'm given to understand that makes it somewhat more than you might otherwise expect."

A bit shocked at the salary the Headmaster was discussing, Poppy only nodded.

"Of course, there are some...unique features of the position," Dumbledore went on. "While the summer months, of course, will be your own, most of the previous Nurses have used the time to prepare for the upcoming year. I believe Madam Ingleshot has referred to it as 'the inevitable onslaught', or some such. The hospital wing also houses your quarters, and you will be expected to respond to emergencies at any hour of the day or night."

Poppy nodded at this. As the only medical person on site, she would expect no less. Fortunately, there would be few such instances, and they would be true emergencies.

"There is a potions laboratory in the wing as well, but most of the potions you will need are either supplied by the brewers here at St. Mungo's or stocked by the school's Potions Master."

"I've used Master Slughorn's potions in the past, with good results," she said, considering. "I'm certain that they won't be a problem."

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled, and she realized that she was actually giving the matter serious consideration. "You will also be responsible for the medical care of the faculty and staff, but this typically requires only a small portion of your time. Oh, and of course, the house elves will be available to assist you with the mundane chores of cleaning and whatnot."

"Are any of the house elves trained in patient care?" Poppy asked, curious. There were some at St. Mungo's, of course, but she'd only rarely heard of medical care elves otherwise.

"Not to my knowledge," Dumbledore shook his head. "However, I'm sure that if you told them you had more work for them to do, they would be more than willing to accept any training you might care to give."

"That could be useful," Poppy said, thinking hard. There had to be a serious down-side to the job, she just couldn't think of what it might be at the moment. Certainly it sounded almost too good to be true.

"I shall have to think about it, Professor," she said, rising to leave.

"Of course, my dear, of course. I await your pleasure." And with that, she and Dumbledore had parted company.

Eventually, she'd been unable to discover any significant negatives to the job, except that she would be on her own, without the collegial atmosphere of St. Mungo's. Her career would effectively stall, but then again, she'd never really wanted to ascend the heights of the Healer ladder. She'd seen that Senior Healers did less and less healing and more and more paperwork as they progressed, and the very thought left her cold. So, she'd 'only' be a 'School Nurse'...she'd never lack for patients, the paperwork would be minimal, and she'd been promised the chance to offer courses in basic Healing at regular intervals.

All in all, she'd been happy during her time at Hogwarts. Granted, she'd seen the Basic Healing elective wax and wane in popularity, but those students who had bothered to think about their lives after Hogwarts had frequently written owls thanking her for her common-sense, useful course (especially the new mothers, who swore by Poppy's anti-colic potion). And, she'd never been bored, not with the wide range of injuries that the students managed to inflict upon each other. She'd even kept up a fairly robust academic life, merely by writing up the more esoteric cases she'd had to deal with and then publishing them in the Cup and Leech—Britain's premiere wizarding medical journal. The Headmaster was always generous in giving her time away to attend seminars throughout the UK (so long as she was available by emergency portkey), so she never truly lacked for professional interaction. She also found herself making friends with most of the other faculty and staff, with few exceptions.

Best of all, the paperwork was constant, and rarely beyond what she felt comfortable with.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Albus, that boy's been horribly, terribly abused, for years! We have no choice but to inform Wizarding Child Services!"

Poppy was barely holding on to her temper as she addressed the Headmaster.

"Poppy, Harry Potter was raised by his mother's sister's family; they are Muggles, so I rather doubt that..."

"Then notify the Muggle equivalent! I know they have them! Let them meet Harry somewhere, and have a muggle physician examine the boy; he'll find the same things that I did, only it will take him a bit more time. Then, they can have the boy's guardians arrested, and hopefully locked up until they're old and gray!"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Poppy," the Headmaster said sadly. "Harry must remain at his relatives house over the summer for at least the next few years."

"ALBUS! You can't mean that!" Pomphrey screeched, completely shocked. "I...I forbid it! It violates everything I believe in! Act of Secrecy be damned, my Oath as a Healer demands that I do everything possible to prevent that child from going back to that environment! If you won't take the proper steps, then by Merlin, I will!" With that, she spun on her heel and made to leave the Headmaster's office.

"_Obliviate._" The Headmaster's spell froze the Healer in her tracks. "I'm sorry, Poppy, but it really is for the Greater Good. Look at me." Poppy turned and met the Headmaster's eyes, the stunning effects of the mind-altering spell leaving her a thoughtless automaton. "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully..."

* * *

In her office, Poppy Pomphrey put the finishing touches on the first of what would be many notes in Harry Potter's medical file. She never realized that the results of her initial diagnostic scan—done routinely on every child at some point during their first year at Hogwarts—weren't in the usual place in the chart. Nor was her first recommendation sheet, which had run to almost three feet of parchment.

What she signed, instead, was a minor injury report. Yes, the boy was a bit small for his age, but she planned only to follow his weight every few months; Hogwarts food should take care of that easily enough. She didn't understand why the boy would choose muggle glasses over magical correction of his vision, but she believed that she'd offered (and been declined). Oh well, it was his choice, of course.

Really, though, he was a bit scrawny, and she momentarily considered putting him on nutrient potions, then discarded the idea.

No, he really didn't need them. He'd be just fine, she needn't worry.

The phrases kept repeating in her head. He'd be just fine.

There was no need for her to worry.

He'd be just fine. No need to worry.

Just fine.

No worries.

**A/N: ** This was inspired by **Laume's "Cracked"**, which is chapter **#29 in her Plot Bunny Storage** box. Like that most excellent work, it fits within the canon, but answers some questions as to just what happened 'off screen' of the books themselves.

It's always bothered me that such a dedicated healer as Poppy could fail to miss the signs of child abuse in Harry. Yes, I realize that it was necessary for the plot, but it's one of the more far-fetched omissions in canon. The explanation that fits best, in my opinion, is that Dumbledore used some combination of Legilimency, the Imperious curse and/or other spells to compel Poppy to overlook the blindingly obvious, in complete disregard to the strictures and Oaths of the healing profession. Of course, I've always been a proponent of the manipulative (if not Evil) Dumbledore, so that may just be me.

I'd be interested to see more of this type of 'off screen' stories; I know they're out there, I just can't remember where. Perhaps some eager young soul would consider starting a Community of such...? {hint, hint}


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ** I was embarrassed about how rarely I publish these days, and I've been reading a LOT of Edward/Harry, Jacob/Harry and Edward/Jacob, and this plot bunny just wouldn't die.

**Disclaimer: ** the standard one about how I own neither Harry Potter nor Twilight, etc. etc., not making any money, please don't sue. Also, everything I know about Twilight I've learned from the internet; I've neither read the books nor seen any of the movies. Seriously. This is what comes from too much slash.

**Together in the Twilight**

When people see the Cullen-Blacks, they often wonder 'who's the top?'. They see Jacob's tall, massively muscular body, and how he towers over the shorter, slimmer, younger-appearing Edward, so their first thought is 'well, of course, the big one tops, and the little one bottoms'. Then, if they're lucky, they get to know the couple a bit better.

Of two, Edward has the older soul. He's calm, reserved, thoughtful, and, well, a bit Edwardian (in the historic-era sense, please pardon the bad pun); he is obviously the mature adult in the relationship. In contrast, Jacob is loud, boisterous, impulsive, and very touchy-feely. He's just as likely to grab Edward and hug him in public—and kiss him, if Edward wiggles too much, just to embarrass him more—as he is to laugh too loudly or blurt out some borderline inappropriate comment, "just because". And, as people realize this, they begin to believe that Jacob is the bottom of the pair. More than that, they come to see Jacob Black as the stereotypical 'big butch power bottom'. That the stereotype exists tell you how many of them are out there, and Jacob like to play into it. Then, there's Edward and his behavior. 'Oh, of course,' they think, 'Edward is much too controlling to ever be anything but the top in that relationship'. So, most of them go on, convinced in their hearts and minds that they know exactly what happens in the Cullen-Black bedroom.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Oh, it didn't start out that way. It's debatable as to which came first, Edward's realization that Jacob was his soulmate or Jacob's imprinting on Edward. Carlisle's theory is that both things happened at roughly the same time. He bases this theory on the sudden explosion between the two that just happened one day; anger and animosity that dwarfed everything that had come before. Since both of them worked so hard at fighting what they were feeling, it was a rocky few weeks. When the two of them finally gave in to the inevitable, their relationship began to grow and develop...and both pack and coven sighed with relief.

Jacob bottomed first, at his own insistence. For weeks, that was their pattern: Edward would go down on Jacob, and even swallow (finding out that 'feeding' from Jacob was better than any cougar or grizzly bear, and left him much more satisfied), and Jacob would eagerly do the same before begging Edward to take him.

Not surprisingly, Jacob wasn't content to let this continue forever. Gentle hints became caresses to hidden areas, followed by kisses, then fingers...and then, one memorable night, Edward looked into his lover's eyes, let go of his fear, and rolled over.

What happened next changed both of their lives forever.

Jacob took his time, preparing Edward until the vampire was writhing and begging beneath him. Then, ever so slowly, the young shifter pressed himself into the cool cavern of his lover's body, his own elevated body heat warming Edward in ways that a century of existence had never prepared him for, the sensation growing and growing until at long last, Jacob was buried full-length in Edward's trembling frame.

Jacob didn't move for several long minutes, savoring what he was feeling while Edward adjusted to his considerable length and girth. Then, the young Quileute moved...and for Edward Cullen, the world shifted on its axis.

Jacob's first pull back brushed against Edward's prostate, causing the vampire to jerk in reaction. Then, as Jacob powered forward once more, Edward's new position made Jacob's entire length saw across the tender gland.

The sensations made the reserved, quiet vampire scream in ecstasy, as Edward Cullen discovered his most favorite thing in the universe: getting fucked by Jacob Black.

It wasn't long before even Jacob's enhanced endurance and stamina was being put to the test. Naturally, the coven and the pack being just who and what they were, it became no great secret, either.

Emmett took great joy, seconded by Paul and Quil, in referring to Edward as 'Miss Helium Heels'...but that didn't last long, since Edward's reaction was only to blush a bit, then smirk.

Jacob, of course, told them all it was none of their damned business. Then, he'd smirk, too. After all, he'd been the one that created that particular monster; he and no one else.

The truth be known, both young men enjoy doing pretty much everything to, with and for the other. They are both dominant personalities; neither of them is submissive enough to be a pure bottom. They switch positions like a tripping breaker. But, if they have a preference in the bedroom...and the living room...and the kitchen...and on the back deck...and in the woods...and while swimming...and in the backseat of their cars...and pretty much anywhere else the mood strikes them...Edward's ankles will be somewhere in the vicinity of Jacob's ears, while Jacob warms Edward's cold heart as only he can.

And the kissing is pretty hot, too.

**A/N: ** for **abby ebon**, whose output astounds me. For **WickedSlashAngel**, who really is one. For **Suiyou** and the absolute best Yakuza!Harry fic ever. For **harboringsighs**, and a great line about switching from The Function to Breathe (chapter 6), without the straight bottom pun. For **athenakitty**: yes, Kreacher will get a sparky maker. And for all of you who read and review. And never tell me when all of these competitions are until AFTER I can't enter... For all of you who have me on 'Author Alert', and aren't just following Vale of Destiny. For the reader (whose review I can't find to credit) who said I wrote the best 'hot steamy man sex' they'd ever read.

But really and especially, for all of those of you who keep writing these most excellent fics. I'd much rather read your good stuff than write my own stuff. Hope you enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Oops!** This is a repost to (hopefully) correct two errors.

**A/N:** This Omake has been sitting around on my hard drive for a while, it's about time that it saw the light of day. It's a Harry Potter/Twilight/Anita Blake mashup that assumes that Harry has gone to Forks and bonded with both Edward and Jacob. The resultant Triumvirate not only protects Forks and the surrounding environs against all comers, but also scares the willies out of the established factions. This is the scene that occurs when the boys are forced to go to St. Louis to meet with representatives from the Ministry, Council and Volturi (the Axis of Weasels), with Jean-Claude, Richard and Anita 'volunteering' to play hosts.

I wish that someone would actually write this story, as I just don't have the time or energy to do it justice. *sigh*

**Disclaimer:** don't own anything, and no profit will be made from this work. This is intended only for the amusement and enjoyment of my readers, as well as an homage to the original creators of these three wonderful universes.

**WARNING:** Slashy goodness HEAVILY implied. You have been warned.

**Triumvirate Omake**

"It's a retiring closet, or room," Harry said, absently warding the door as it clicked shut. "We'll wait here until time for us to be presented," he smirked. "Then, I suspect we'll go through that door," he went on, nodding to the far end of the smallish room.

"At least we dressed for the occasion," Edward smirked. This earned him glares from both of the other men in the room as that particular argument threatened to flare up once again.

Edward had insisted, with Harry's reluctant agreement, that power dressing was the only possible approach to take in this situation. Consequently, Edward himself was wearing clothes that would have been appropriate in the French court of the mid-1700's—cream colored frock coat, embroidered waistcoat, stockings to the knees and lace at ankles and wrists. Harry was wearing the severely understatedly attire of a wizarding Lord: formal robes of acromantula silk very neatly set off his dragon hide armor and boots. The black robes were trimmed in shades of green that brought out his eyes, and his hair—which now spilled down his back, and that Jacob and Edward both loved to play with—was tied with a single emerald thong. This pulled his hair off of his face and left his scar in plain view, which Edward insisted was the point of the exercise.

"Yes, let them see the scar! They'll be wondering about it, so you have to flaunt it, Harry!" Edward had been absolutely convinced of the need to be brazen about who and what they were, and the other two had reluctantly agreed. That was why the Potter and Black signet rings, as well as the Ring of Resurrection, all shone on Harry's hands. Last, a shimmering cloak was fastened on Harry's right shoulder, close to hand while setting off the outfit stylishly.

So, Edward was dressed like a courtier, Harry as the very image of a powerful wizarding Lord, and Jacob...

Jacob had flatly refused a frock coat, or anything with sleeves. Instead, a sleeveless black shirt of some sheer, clingy fabric had been painted onto his chest, with loose linen pants and plain shoes finishing the all-black ensemble. He'd dressed simply, because "I'm not the one on show here, you two are"; also, there was less fabric to be sacrificed if he had to shift.

Harry and Edward had disagreed that Jacob wasn't as much on display as they were, but they both agreed that Jacob's huge frame was well displayed by the outfit. "Black in black...Harry likee," had been Lord Potter's first response on seeing him earlier.

"You realize that you're not only intimidating as hell, but smoking hot, don't you?" Edward had asked.

Jacob's only answer had been to roll his eyes.

Neither of his two companions said anything further as Harry walked the length of the room. Jacob and Edward fell in behind the wizard on either side, their eyes sweeping the room for danger, or signs that they were being watched.

Finally Harry turned. "Wards are up, we can talk now."

Edward nodded, once, while Jacob took a deep breath then blew it out.

"We're finally here," the shifter said. "The Council, and the Volturi, and the Ministry, all together at once."

"It occurs to me that we've already engendered more cooperation between them than they've had to endure for decades," Edward's cool voice made the others smile.

"No doubt." Jacob's smirked.

"More like centuries, I should think," Harry mused, still looking around. "We've made them admit that they were aware of each other all that time; they can't be terribly happy with us about that."

"So, does that make them dirty lying liars who tell lies, or just hypocritical bastards?"

"Jacob! Language!" Harry laughed even as he protested.

Jacob Black, on the other hand just raised his eyebrows. "You...Mr. "Wait until I put up a silencing charm because I'm a screamer" Potter is calling _me_ out over _my_ language?"

Harry blushed to the roots of his hair, but only grinned in reply. Edward, however, surprised himself and his companions by bursting out laughing.

"Considering how some people _howl_," he managed to gasp out, "I don't think either of you can say anything to the other," he said, still laughing.

Harry and Jacob's eyes met, and a message flashed between them. A twitch of Harry's hand froze the vampire in place, and Jacob moved with inhuman speed to stand beside the copper-haired man.

"You," Jacob whispered into the struggling, frozen vampire's ear, "should be the last one to go to that place."

"Unless, of course, the sound of splintering headboards doesn't count," Harry joined in, having moved to within touching range of the others. The wizard twitched his fingers, then he and the shifter caught the suddenly-released vampire between them.

Edward shook himself, snarled minutely at first Jacob, then Harry just for forms, sake, then snaked an arm around both, pulling them into a three-way embrace.

"I love you both; now, let me concentrate," Edward whispered, his cool body going absolutely still, his eyes dropping shut. For several long moments the trio stood there, Harry and Jacob each gently caressing each other but not disturbing Edward.

At length, Edward's eyes opened. "It's...not good," he began, his eyes flicking to the door at the far end of the room.

"Worst first, " Harry said flatly.

"Some of the Council and the Volturi, I can't read. For those I can..." Edward paused. "Most of them seem to think that we'll be eliminated as a matter of course. They see us as a threat, or as a new locus of power outside of their control. The Ministry has basically the same position, except that they are determined that you, Harry, return to England to 'be properly rewarded' for your actions," Edward smiled at Harry's snort of disbelief. "Actually, the 'proper reward' is going to be drafting into the Auror corps until the last of the Death Eaters have been mopped up, then off to Azkaban and the Kiss for doing what it will take to deal with the last of the Death Eaters. There's also a small group who want you Kissed immediately before you 'reveal yourself' as the next Dark Lord."

Harry snickered at that one. The first time it had been painful to hear that, but after that cartoon came out in the Quibbler of 'Dark Lord Potter' forcing all the magical children in England to eat chocolate frogs and sugar quills, most of the sting had gone out of the silly title. Of course, Luna was still doing her part, running a continuing series of 'exclusive reports' about how Harry was the secret leader of the Rotfang Conspiracy.

That the ever-resourceful Ms. Lovegood had three rolls of film of Edward eating blood pops (and a few of Jacob absolutely demolishing an entire box of chocolate frogs) made sure that there was plenty of 'proof' of her claims.

"Harry's done enough for them," Jacob snarled, then calmed quickly when Harry smiled at him.

"There's no way I'm going back with them...at least, not without the two of you with me!" Harry qualified. "I may not be able to avoid going back to England for a short time, but after that..." he looked up at Jacob and smiled. "I miss spending evenings sitting on the porch, talking with the Elders. And," Harry turned, "I miss cooking with Esme, and the rest of the family."

"I bet the Pack misses you cooking with Esme, too," Jacob grinned, leaning down to nuzzle his imprint's neck. "Only Harry Potter could have used shepherd's pie to bring the Coven and Pack together," he said, pulling Harry back against him when the shorter man tried to wiggle away.

"Stop that, puppy, we don't have time," Harry hissed. Then, he relaxed back against the largest of his lovers. "Although, there are worse ways to await one's inevitable doom," the Boy Who Lived grinned, pulling his vampire mate closer, leaning his head up in a clear invitation to a kiss.

Edward Cullen was only too happy to oblige the British wizard. While still 'young' as a vampire, Edward was by far the oldest of the trio. Consequently, he usually felt the need to be the 'responsible' one. Being with Jacob and Harry, thought, was changing the vampire in ways that no one could have predicted. Edward would rarely ever be the life of the party (well, unlife), but he was becoming more and more comfortable enjoying the (un)life he had, and openly showing his enjoyment. It was a marked change from the broody figure that for decades had worn the shape of Edward Cullen.

"So, the general consensus—except for the idiots from the Ministry—is that we're going to die before the sun rises?" Harry asked lightly, very firmly held between his two bonded.

"I think the Master of the City, as well as his own triumvirate and their people, would very much like for that not to happen, but they're terrified," Edward said quietly. "Jean-Claude, I'm sure, knows just how much we offend the various Powers just by existing. I'm not sure if Anita or Richard quite grasps the subtleties, but they certainly understand the salient points. That we've shown ourselves ready to stand by their side at need has them thinking in terms of...other possibilities.

"Except that powerful members of both the Council and the Volturi want us all dead, whereas the Ministry only wants Harry on a choke-chain. Couple of great choices, there," Jacob said quietly.

"And it means that we've got no choice, except to stack the deck in our favor," Harry murmured quietly. He reached out and took Edward's hands in his own while Jacob's arms wrapped around Edward's neck, pulling them all as close together as they could possibly be while standing.

"Harry...Jacob...I..." Edward began, but couldn't manage any more.

"Listen to me, leech," Jacob's voice was warm and loving enough to turn the insult into a caress. "There's nothing wrong with this, and no shame in enjoying it. That it will give us a fighting chance in there is a convenient excuse, but there's no reason why you couldn't have had this long before now."

"I never wanted it, and I don't want it now," Edward protested. "I know that I have to, because it is the only way we're likely to survive the next few hours, but I don't have to like it."

"Like it or not, we're doing it," Harry said, the bonds between the three ringing with his authority and power. "And it's not going to change a damn thing between us," he hissed.

Edward looked at his two mates...the two other members of their bond, what the locals called a triumvirate. Fiery green and flashing brown eyes looked at him from stern faces.

"I can't loose you, either of you," the vampire finally said.

"You won't," Jacob insisted.

"Not a chance," Harry's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Now, let's do this and be done! Someone's probing the wards, and we may not have much time."

The trio separated just enough for Harry to slip out from between Jacob and Edward. Taking a shot glass from a convenient sideboard, he carefully added six drops of clear potion to the glass from a tiny vial he produced from some hidden pocket. Then, shrugging off his outer robe, he bared his left sleeve.

"Jacob, help me here," he asked, then handed the cup to his lover. "Hold this, while I draw the blood," Harry asked. Nodding, Jacob held the glass in front of him, some few inches from where Harry placed the tip of his wand on the inside of his elbow. One whispered incantation later, and the glass began to fill with Harry's blood. When the glass was half full, he carefully pulled his wand from his arm, healed the tiny puncture, and lightly placed his palm over the top of the glass.

"I, Harry Potter, do willingly give of my blood, my life and my power to my bonded, Edward Cullen. I do this freely, and with love."

A quick flash of ruby light from inside the glass was the only sign that anything had happened. Holding out his arm, Jacob couldn't keep the tiny wince off his face when Harry used his wand to draw the shifters blood.

"Easy, love," Harry smiled, keeping up the gentle pressure the blood collection spell required until the glass was almost full. A quick healing charm and kiss to make it better from Harry, and Jacob was holding his own palm over the glass.

"I, Jacob Black, give willingly of my life, my blood and my power. Let Edward Cullen, my bonded, use this power as he will. I give this freely, and because of my love for him and our little wizard," he grinned, the ruby flash between his fingers showing that his words had been accepted by the magic.

Harry's dirty look at Jacob's improvisation couldn't hide his amusement, especially when the glass flashed brightly. After all, it was the intent that mattered, and Jacob's intent could not have been more clear.

Taking the glass, Harry beckoned Edward over with his eyes. "Edward, love," he said softly, holding up the glass between them. "This is the blood, life and power of your lovers. Drink, because of your love for us, and use our powers to protect us all." He very carefully ignored Edward's fears that, once he'd tasted his lovers, he'd never again be able to resist the siren call of their blood.

Edward's hand was as steady as a marble statue when he took the glass. "Because I love you both more than life itself," he whispered, then drained the glass with several long, deep swallows.

As the first of the blood passed his lips, Edward shuddered at the sweet, tangy richness filling his mouth. Predators like bears and cougars kept him more or less satisfied, while human blood was a delicacy he'd long since denied himself. This was something much, much more...human, yes, with all of it's perfect taste and bouquet, but more...this was magical blood! Blood from (arguably) the most powerful wizard alive and from an alpha shifter in the prime of his life; this was the stuff of which vampire dreams are made. And he had it, given freely, and he could taste that, too; he could taste Harry and Jacob's love for him as they were giving of themselves in the way that would benefit him most.

With that rush of power also came their determination to give of themselves to him every single day for the rest of eternity, if that was what he needed. The amount of love and devotion behind that determination left him feeling blessed beyond all imaginings, and he knew that his fears had been groundless—if not a bit silly. He, Harry and Jacob were bound together in ways that transcended the usual limits of all of their powers—why should his having a bit of their blood be anything but good for all of them?

And then, as the power rushed through him, Edward realized that his lovers were right. They did need this advantage, if they were to survive this night. The vampire closed his eyes, letting his body adjust to the energy now coursing through it. He flexed his fingers—the glass shattered like a soap bubble—cracked his neck right then left, and then looked at his lovers. He let a tiny bit of his new strength flow into their bond, and the bond flared wide open in response as Jacob's and Harry's power responded to him.

"Edward...your eyes..." Harry whispered.

"They're glowing...red and glowing," Jacob's voice was also low.

"I can feel you, both of you," Edward smiled gently. "It's different from knowing your thoughts, Jacob, Harry; I can _feel_ you," he said, then shrugged. "I can't really explain it."

"You don't have to," Harry smiled, then turned to shrug back into his formal robes. "We feel it, too. Help me with these, will you?" he asked plaintively.

Edward moved to help his mortal lover, careful of his new strength. The billowing formal robes could be a bit much for one person to manage.

"They finally have someone competent on the wards," Harry said suddenly. "I think that we're about to go on, gentlemen."

One last twitch of robes, and Harry and his companions were set. Checking his wand holsters, Harry briefly touched his holly and phoenix wand on his right and the Elder wand on his left. As usual these days, touching any one of the Hallows gave him a brief sense of the other two, the cloak fastened on his shoulder and the ring on his finger.

"The Hallows?" Jacob asked, knowing what Harry was doing.

Harry nodded grimly. Despite his ambivalence about the artifacts, Harry couldn't risk not using their power to protect Jacob and Edward.

Edward took Harry's hand and kissed it lightly.

"We do this because we must, love," he whispered. Then, louder, he looked at Jacob. "Because I love you both, we will do what we must this night!"

Jacob nodded grimly, while Harry only set his face into a determined look.

"I love you both," Harry said, and collapsed the wards.

As the far door opened, Harry Potter, flanked by Edward Cullen and Jacob Black, went to meet their destiny together.

**FINIS**

**A/N:** I leave it up to you what happens next...


End file.
